Tragic Decay
by Zazzie
Summary: I had a hard time connecting the personalities of Anakin and Vader. This takes place a bit after the end of ROTS, and tries to go deeper into the transformation. Angst. Lots of angst. And reflection. Angsty, dark reflection. Fun, eh?


_In. Out. In. Out. _

Anakin's slow, steady breathing was not of his own will, but the sickening drumbeat of a machine. He, in a way, _was_ a machine. _What is the difference between man and machine? _He mused idly, staring out a porthole to a glaringly starry expanse and not truly seeing it. What makes a person, a mind, a heart?

He always assumed it was love. But in the black, mechanical mural that was now his mind, there was no love. Love was now pain, love was blackness and hate. Love no longer existed for him. He had lost all those he'd loved. His mother had been murdered. Obi-Wan, the only person who had been like a father to him, had turned against him. And Padme- his dear, Padme, his heart's core, the one who he had loved the most, whom he had held and folded in his thoughts and arms until she was a part of his being- _he had killed her._

His dark thoughts were twisted even darker as his mind filled with pain, loss and agony. Guilt….solitude…._utter and COMPLETE ANGONY._

It was a twisted dance, the one his mind would twirl. Ever since his body had been deformed, ever since he had murdered her. His mind bled, his heart, if there was even one left, bled. It was rotted, it was cold. It was in pain, in pure, crystalline pain. A beautiful and complete pain hid within him, in the crevices of his thoughts, which would always dance and mock him.

And he knew now that there was no way for him to show this.

A group of white-clad storm troopers walked by, keeping their distance in an obvious but respectful way. (He wanted to strangle one, he wanted to talk to one. He wanted to kill one, to love one.)

His black façade, he knew, scared many into respect. As they passed, did they see him? They saw a shadow. _A frightening shadow,_ he told himself, half-amused through his ever-present self-torture. Did they see pain? Of course not. They saw an intimidating calm, or the monster their fathers told them to beware of when they were children.

_Children…I killed so many children…_

_But more importantly, I killed HER…._

_Yes. _The thought was calm, giving him a paralyzing numbness.

They saw his calm. They, of course, wouldn't see the pain…the hatred… he'd put more blood on his mechanical hands if they saw the utter, simple loathing at life in general.

(_Life? **What life?**) _

Life had taken it all away! All of it! His mother. His body, his mind, his Padme! His life!  
The dance slowed to anger. _This life. Curse life! Life is deceiving, it is hateful. _

Life had taken it all from him. Nothing left but hatred, but PAIN, but loss….. and, of course, power.

_Power. _

Yes, the power! Power he had only dreamed of as A Jedi! Control over everything, over people, over the matter in the air… the power of life, the power of _death_!

It hadn't saved her life, though. Power over life, indeed.

The rage started up again, going from the comfortable, horrible numbness to the pure, bubbling rage at his mere existence. The molten lava erupted; it burned inside of him, destroying his inside like it had his outside.

_But the power! _He shot back, resistant, not willing to admit his weakness to grief and despair. The dark, beautiful, horrible, wonderful POWER! No restraint! No petty Jedi rules!   
That power…the horrible corrupting, raw power…. The black cold mask, the pain, the hatred, the pain, the hatred…he had never defined his individuality as that. That was never what had made him, his person, his mind, his heart. Anakin had never been made of corruption, of darkness, of need for power, feeding upon it as if it were his food… (which, in a way now, it was). They were not him. They were not Anakin Skywalker.

They were Darth Vader.

And so was _he_, he realized. Anakin Skywalker was no longer. He was dead. Anakin was nothing but a crumpled up, distorted corpse, hidden in layer after layer of darkness. He was dead, and his memory was rotting within Vader's mind. Soon it would be gone, lost to decay. But Anakin was dead, nevertheless. He had died with Padme. He had died with his heart and his love and his sanity.

_Yes_. He laughed like a madman, his conclusion making sense, his conclusion wonderful and comforting and powerful.

Anakin Skywalker was dead.

_Anakin Skywalker was dead._

Darth Vader lived.

_In. Out. In. Out._

_(in..)_


End file.
